Argosy All-Story Weekly, February 18, 1928 — page 135: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

THE EVIL into the snow as an expression of strange wonderment twisted his heavy face. “T told you to stop!” Barbara Howland shouted at him, her rifle now lowered to her hip as she watched him. He looked exactly like a wounded bear. For a mo- ment he steadied himself with that vast hand prodded into the snow, his other against his breast, the fingers gripping at his shirt. Then he shouted again, bellowed a de- fiance that was half crazed laugh, and half hateful growl. With an effort he raised himself erect, a light of doubt and won- derment on his face. He coughed sudden- ly, then spat a streak of red across the snow. “By damn!” he howled raucously, “ French Pierre, heem keel. Heem not die! Sacré!”’ He swayed on his feet, steadied himself, the blight of death already transfiguring his features; then, one hand still clutching at the rushing death in his chest, he stormed ahead, his laugh ringing out once more, his devil-like disregard of death as evident as ever. Barbara Howland called again a warn- ing, and again it was laughed aside as Pierre staggered on toward her. She raised her rifle calmly. The Frenchman made no ef- fort to dodge. His one arm reached out to grip her, as though his eyes might have deceived him in the distance he was from her. Again the rifle roared. French Pierre cursed, straightened, fell toppling back- ward to the snow, where he writhed ima vain effort to get up. Slowly the girl went toward him, stood at his side as his huge arms went limp, and a weird smile set upon his mad face. “ Pierre heem get keel!” the man was muttering, as though telling to himself a most surprising piece of news that none might believe. ‘“ Sacré! Jes’ like damn Jerk. Pierre he ees keel. Heem right queeck be dead, by damn!”’ Barbara Howland stood over him but long enough to assure herself that he was harmless. Then she rushed to Tad Ray- nor’s side, and found him just regaining consciousness and struggling to rise. She PANORAMA, aided him, steadied him as he stood up, his head spinning from the effects of Pierre’s boot. A shriek came from the pass. They turned and saw the native whirling down the slope toward the still Pierre. Barb shuddered as the Indian fell upon the dead man and pounded his carcass with shouts of mad joy. Raynor staggered toward him, pulled him away with a shudder. French Pierre lay huddled in death, his shroud the snows that had been unable to defeat him, his strange eyes gazing upward at the calm heavens that had seen his evil deeds. The mighty muscles were as dust; all again was silent. “Surely,” Barb Howland said tenderly when Tad returned to her. ‘ Surely, Tad, there is a god of these hills and these snows and his justice is unfailing!” CHAPTER XXYV. CONTENTMENT. HE office of Colonel Raynor in San Francisco was closed. Those who sought audience with the famous colonel were told that he was unavailable until later in the day unless it might be that he could be located on the wharves. To those of them who sought him, there appeared a packet well inside the gate and warping toward its mooring where tenders already were in waiting. In one of those tenders was Colonel Raynor, most impa- tient of all who awaited the landing of the packet. In the bow of the ship was Tad Raynor and, clinging to his arm, was Barbara How- land. The colonel clambered over the side and rushed toward them. His arm slipped about the shoulders of Tad and he folded him close to his chest. Barbara slipped inside the other arm, and the colonel leaned down and kissed her cheek with a resounding welcome. They all laughed joyously; then the colonel pushed Tad from him and surveyed him appraisingly. What he saw seemed to please him. 933. “ Jerk Rann is dead, dad,” the son said. — “ Died the worst death I ever heard of! (e(0) VOOKS AAI (E@)